As I struggled to put my shoes back on before heading toward the gate to wing my way home to Carpenter Country, I remembered I’d once thought flying was fun. Today, all I could think was: Oh heck, another boring flight.
So, what had turned a feel-good experience into such a ho-hum?
It might be the necessity of being at the airport an hour and a half before take-off. The heightened security and uncomfortable planes with narrow aisles and narrower seats?
Or maybe it wasn’t the flight that was really bothering me.
More likely, it was the fact that I’d just spent the last eight days with two of my best friends. We’d enjoyed a facial, planned a cookout, done some gambling and filled countless hours with late night catch-up conversations.
Now it would be another year before I saw either of them again.
At that moment, I looked up, and heading my way was one of the gals who was supposed to be leaving from a different gate. “Guess what,” she said. “My plane’s been delayed. I’m flying with you.”
All of a sudden my doldrums vanished. This vacation wasn’t over yet!
Such is the curse of wishful thinking.
As it turned out, we were both tired from our round of non-stop partying, and in the end we exchanged only a few words. But it didn’t matter. Her friendship followed me all the way to Tampa–
–and jazzed up what would otherwise have been a very monotonous trip home.